


One Who Didn't Get Away

by will_thewisp



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Harvey doesn't give up, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3201974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/will_thewisp/pseuds/will_thewisp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike wasn't a damsel in distress. Damsels in distress get saved. Nobody saved Mike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mike was crying. It wasn't violent sobbing, just big, fat tears that escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. He trembled. He wasn't afraid, he was cold. His hands were freezing. The coldness of the bathroom tiles against his back was no longer a contrasting shock. He looked down and almost laughed, it was funny how his knees trembled while his pants and boxers were around his ankles. He couldn't stop shaking, but there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

He bent down to pull up his pants and paused when a deep pain in his lower back spiked. He felt like and old man with rheumatism. He breathed deep and in one, not very fluid movement dressed himself, well, he managed to pull his pants up to cover himself. His fingers shook too hard for him to manage the button or zipper, or belt.

He had banged his head against the wall when he straightened, mostly so that there would be another pain to focus on. His hands slid away from his hips. How come it was so hard to dress when it had been so easy to pull it all off? How come his clothing was an unpenetrable fortress now? Now, when it was all over.

He knew he should straighten his shirt. Hell, he should button up his shirt, but he couldn't bring his hands to cooperate. What use was the shirt? He was freezing through it anyway. Mike choked a sob. How come he was still freezing? Shouldn't at least the tiles feel warmer? Shouldn't they borrow his body heat? Or .. the friction.. Had it really all been so fast that even the tiles were still cold? Or was he dead and there was just no warmth in his body?

Mike shook his head at the useless train of though. He buttoned himself up, closed the zipper and pulled the belt too tight before pushing shirt tails behind it. His hands still shook, his movements were jerky and his vision.. He was sure he didn't see half the things around him anymore. He grabbed his jacket where it had been thrown into the sink and left.

The music in the club was deafening. How he hadn't heard it before? In the bathroom? It had been deadly silent there. Except for.. _No, please, no.. No.. What are you, no.._ Mike shook his head, swaying on his feet. He pushed through the crowd in a blur. He only noticed that he had held his breath when he was on the street, bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. There were other people outside, chatting, laughing, smoking. A mere presence ten feet from him made him twitchy. He felt vulnerable and sick, and breathless.

He jumped nearly a foot away when someone approached him asking him if he was okay.

Mike stared at the woman with large, terrified eyes. _Where were you before?_ He wanted to ask. He didn't want to be terrified of her, he wanted to know why she was here now, why she wasn't there before. But he was. Terrified. “I'm fine,” he lied.

“Are you sure?” she asked, so infinitely kind and concerned that he almost caved. Her hair was long and blonde, but her eyes such a familiar brown. Like Harvey's. “I know a few people here, I can help,” she offered.

“It's fine,” Mike forced himself. “I'm already heading home.”

“Do you need a cab?” she wouldn't let go and Mike wanted to scream at her.

“It's okay. I want to walk a little,” he wanted.. He had no idea what he wanted anymore. “Just.. Have a nice evening.”

“Well..,” she bit her lip, hesitating. “Okay. Have a nice night too,” she walked back to her friends, looking back twice only to see him walking away.

Mike tried to walk fast. He thought he was walking fast. In truth he was moving awkwardly, trying to accommodate all the pains in his body and still keep going forward. He pushed his palms in his armpits. His hands were freezing. Of all the things - his hands were freezing. It was only a couple of blocks later that he began to see more than just the street side. It's not like his vision had been limited before, he hadn't been that drugged, he was pretty sure of that, but.. Everything had been in a haze up until then. A few sharp moments. _Sharp pains._

He shook his head, he didn't want to think. _Harvey,_ Mike thought as he paused on an empty intersection. The streetlights were bright. The traffic light was red for pedestrians. Mike stood, because he didn't know what else to do. Should he call Harvey? This wasn't the first time tonight that he had thought of his boss. He _had_ tried to call Harvey, he remembered. That's how he had lost his phone. He didn't remember seeing it as he left the club, but then again his whole exit was hazy to him. Oh, he knew that if he tried hard enough he'd remember every detail, but Mike wanted it to be hazy, because..

He swayed on the corner of an empty intersection. He wanted the details to be hazy, because he wanted to stay on this side, to watch the red light instead of walking towards it. Mike _knew.._ He knew so many goddamn things and none of those had helped him tonight. He knew that the logical thing to do would be to call Harvey, to call the police, to call _anyone.._ And then he remembered in explicit detail what had happened to his phone.

***

_Mike pushed with his back against the door as he tried to pull his phone out of his jacket with clumsy fingers. The door buckled and Mike scrambled to press back against it. He could hardly remember why it was so important that the door stays shut._

_He was scrolling through his contact list, frantically thinking that Harvey would know what to do, that Harvey.. When the door buckled, he fell forward and somebody entered the bathroom. The lock clicked as it fell shut. How come he hadn't thought of locking the door?_

_"Oh, baby, I love it when you make me work for it."_

_Mike tried to press 'Call', but he was hauled up by his shoulders and the phone slipped out of his hand. It slid under the sinks and Mike didn't see it again. The call probably never connected._

***

"Oh, god," he breathed in shock. It couldn't have happened to him. His memory was faulty. It was like.. Mike knew what had happened, he wasn't stupid, but he couldn't believe it had happened to him. Things like that just don't happen, not in real life - they were a bad plot device in a movie, they were a story in a newspaper. It wasn't something that happened to Mike Ross, it wasn't something that happened and then the world just kept spinning and traffic lights continued switching, and _he was still breathing.._

A sharp pain in his right side reminded him that he was close to hyperventilating. There. On a street corner in Manhattan. It was ridiculous. Straight out of a movie. He ought to call Harvey.

He crossed the street on a green light and forced himself to breathe slowly. He ought to call Harvey. He ought to call Harvey - it was the only thought that made sense. Everything else in his head was muddled, his thoughts were spinning and he was observing everything and nothing at the same time. Memories and reality checks, and through it all he felt like he was swimming in a big, deep, dark ocean and it didn't matter where he wanted to go, because the current was pulling him away, and.. The belt was digging into his flesh, but it felt like the only thing keeping him together. He ought to call Harvey.

But he didn't have a phone and in a way he was glad. He didn't _want_ Harvey. Not now. Not when he was such a mess, not now when there was nothing to be done, nothing that could be helped, not now when Mike was broken and there was no way to fix him. Harvey was a fixer, but Mike was no longer fixable.

He walked. It became easier in time. Besides he wasn't sure he'd be able to sit down if he tried, there was annoying pain in his lower back.. He wondered if there was blood. He wanted to lie down, but he knew that if he lied down then he'd fall asleep, and then he'd dream, and he didn't want to relive it again, so he walked. He didn't want a new day either, but at one point sun rose, the sky became lighter, and he still walked.

How could someone make his life so meaningless? Mike tried to be conscious of every breath he took, he tried to be calm. How could everything be destroyed in few short.. ~~thrusts..~~ _moments._ He had to be at work. Soon. He had documents to finish for Harvey. Today. He had court and he had.. Friends. _Right?_ He had friends. He had a job. He was important. How did everything become meaningless so suddenly? It was just sex.

He felt his insides clench. It was just sex.

But it wasn't. It was rape, and it was the fact that he had been alone, and he was always alone, and nobody rescued him. He wasn't a damsel in distress, because damsels get saved. His whole life he was just one failure after another. _Failed potential,_ that's what his teachers had said. Even at that job of his - he was a fraud. His friends? They didn't care about him. They weren't even his friends. Donna was Harvey's. Rachel.. Mike didn't know what the hell to think about Rachel. And Harold, well, Harold got fired and hired and Mike rarely heard from him again. Really, it was pathetic when he tried to list his friends, because there really were none. Trevor? Hated him. Jenny? Hated him. Harvey.. Would do better without him.

There was a rosy hue of sunrise in the sky. Mike looked up and decided. He didn't want to live another day like this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He saw disbelief on Harvey's face and he knew he had failed at explaining something that made such perfect sense in his own mind.

Mike walked until he was on a larger avenue and could hail a cab. He braved the ride, trying not to flinch every time there was a bump in the road. He found his wallet in his pocket and paid the driver - thankful for small mercies, because up until the taxi pulled up to the front of his building, Mike had forgotten about money and payment, and where his stuff might be.

He dragged his feet walking up to his apartment. He was tired. His legs hurt. He had been walking all night. He wanted to go to sleep, and he wanted to never wake up again. He knew he wasn't thinking clearly, but he didn't want to think clearly. Everything hurt far too much even while he was in this haze. He wasn't strong enough to face stone cold sobriety and light of day.

And he wasn't strong enough to face Harvey. Who was sitting on the floor by his door. Ten million thoughts raced through Mike's head starting with -  _the floor's dirty, that's not a suit he's wearing, he hates this building, somebody may have died on that floor, I'm pretty sure somebody puked on that floor, jeans look good on him, I bet they're soft, what is he doing here.._ "Hey," he breathed and it was already more than he had strength for.

"Mike!" Harvey scrambled to his feet. "Thank god," he breathed and made motion to move forward, but stopped himself.

A momentary joy that had flamed up at seeing Harvey, seeing him see Mike and everything that their connection usually gave him died down with realization, "That call connected, didn't it?" There was no other reason for Harvey to be here at this hour. No other reason for such expression of relief.

"Mike.." Harvey tried coming forward, but Mike automatically took a step back, and Harvey stopped.

Mike shook his head. Put up a hand as if that would increase the distance. He couldn't believe.. Harvey had heard it all. _Please, no, stop.. I don't.. Please, stop. It.. Hurts, please.._ Mike flinched as he remembered every word, every wimper. He wanted to die on the spot. "What are you doing here?" he asked, instead.

"I've been looking for you all night," Harvey confessed. "I called the police.."

"You couldn't save me," it wasn't an accusation.

"I tried," Harvey wasn't looking to justify himself. "And I will find him. And I will make sure that bastard never sees the light of day again."

"It doesn't matter," Mike breathed.

"What?"

"It doesn't matter," he repeated, and shrugged. He wasn't joking, and he was pretty sure it wasn't his psyche acting up and victim-blaming himself. It just.. didn't matter. His life was ruined. It was over, actually, and it wasn't as much the non-consensual sex, as the fact that it was just a piece of the puzzle, a part of the pattern that Mike had failed to see before. He was a statistic.

He was that story in a newspaper. He was that brilliant boy who failed at school, at work, at life. He was one of those guys that parents warn their children about - who smoke weed and lead useless lives until they're over. And now Mike's was over.

"Of course it matters," Harvey said, strongly.

Mike didn't have the strength to argue. He went forward, pushed past Harvey and opened his apartment. He didn't notice Harvey following until the man spoke up again, over the low hum of electric teapot. "It's not your fault."

"I know," Mike even managed a smile, a small and sad one.

"Mike!" Harvey barked. "It was not your fault. What happened to you was wrong."

And here it clashed with something in Mike. "It wasn't," he eyed a chair, and chose to remain standing. "Wait, just.. Listen. It was wrong, in a sense that it's a bad thing, but.. It wasn't wrong, because it happened to me. It was just.. One more thing. Just life. My life. It makes sense. I deserved it."

He saw disbelief on Harvey's face and he knew he had failed at explaining something that made such perfect sense in his own mind. Anger smoldered in his chest, waking up slowly. He was a failure. He deserved bad things. What happened to him was statistic - anyone could have been raped tonight at that club, but it was him, because he deserved it. He was friendless, useless. He wasn't important. And it wasn't even terribly tragic, it was just a fact. _A statistic._ How many examples from his life did he need to illustrate to support those facts?

"Mike, listen to me," Harvey spoke low, his voice persuasive. "Not your fault. You most certainly didn't deserve it. I will repeat it as many times as I have to."

"Just go, Harvey," Mike asked gesturing towards the door.

"No," was Harvey's steely reply.

Mike sighed. "What do you want? Can't you see? I'm exhausted."

"You will come with me to the police to file a report. Then we will go to the hospital. Then you're coming to stay with me or here, whichever you prefer, but make point - you're not staying alone. You're also going to make an appointment with a psychiatrist."

"Wow, that's quite a list of demands," Mike bristled, finally something breaking the surface of his previous lethargy. "Do you want a coffee with that too, boss?"

Harvey seemed satisfied with the anger. "You make terrible coffee. I can call a cab or get an officer come here. Which would you prefer?"

"Neither," Mike replied. "And for you to walk out of that door," he didn't want to talk about what happened, he didn't want to face what had happened and most of all - he didn't want to deal with it and live with it. Harvey was stomping all over Mike's perfect defeat. How didn't he get it? Mike didn't want to fight anymore. And he certainly didn't want anyone fighting for him.

"I'm not going until I'm satisfied you're okay. You are most certainly not okay."

"I was raped, Harvey! I'm never going to be okay!" he shouted and froze immediately afterwards. He hadn't meant to say it. _Rape._ It was such an ugly word, it hardly bear being thought about. Mike never meant to say it out loud. After all, it was the associations that went with the word that were even uglier - victim, weak, statistic..

Mike didn't want to be weak. It took all he had just to be standing upright, clear-eyed even if he was swaying on his feet. He was so many things - alone, useless, defeated - and they were true, at the very basics - those were the facts about his life, but.. He didn't want to be weak. He had made his decision. He didn't need someone to hold his hand over it.

"Bullshit," Harvey spat back. He had flinched as if slapped when Mike shouted, but he wasn't going to back down. "Look, Mike, I can't even begin to imagine.."

Mike turned away to face his windows. Day was descending upon the city with the climbing rays of sun. He could imagine everything Harvey had to say. He was _smart_ for all it was worth. He didn't need to be told things - he knew he wasn't in his right mind right now, he knew that most likely half of what he believed now to be true was false, he knew that there was an uphill battle that _could_ be fought, but to be honest.. He also saw everything in his life from a completely different angle and the light of it wasn't flattering.

He knew he was looking at everything through the prism of what he had suffered tonight, but that didn't make any of the facts less true. Everything that he had in his life depended entirely upon Harvey's kindness. He was a fraud. His family was dead. His old friends had left him and his new friends were.. Acquaintances, really. Even Harvey.. Mike frowned, wondering what kind of obligation did Harvey feel that drove him to be here right now. Basic human compassion or decency? Friendship? "I love you."

Harvey paused in his speech.

Mike smiled at his own reflection in the window. He had just confessed his deepest secret to the one person he had never intended to tell, and he.. couldn't bring himself to care. "I'm not sure if you had noticed," he turned back around and leaned against the windowsill, wincing in discomfort. "It's terribly cliched, really. And simply terrible. You're my boss. You're my friend. You're the one I call when I'm in trouble. You gave me the one chance in life that I really needed, and everything that's in my life that is the way it's supposed to be is thanks to you. Everything I have is thanks to you and it's horribly unfair that even my heart is yours."

Harvey just stood there, silent, but Mike hadn't expected him to talk.

"You have to see how that's just not working out."

"Why are you telling me this now?" Harvey interrupted him.

"Why do you think?" Mike shrugged. "I've got nothing left to lose. You can't fire me, because I quit. You can stop seeing me, but it won't matter soon enough, and .."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You're not dumb, Harvey," every word felt like too much effort. Whatever emotion he had managed before, it had died now.

"And you're not dying," Harvey spat back. "I get that you're a delicate flower right not, but let me get this through your thick head - I'm not backing down and you're not giving up. You don't get to do that." Harvey's anger hid his fear. He'd much rather wrap his arms around Mike, never let go, but that wasn't what Mike needed. Harvey saw all too clear how twisted Mike's logic had become. "You have this deathbed confession thing going on right now, let me tell you - there is nothing you can say to me to make me leave, and I don't believe a word of it anyway. You say you love me, but it's meaningless if you're not willing to fight for it. You say that everything you have is thanks to me and that's disrespect to your parents and grandmother, who made and raised you the way you are... Look. I get that you're hurting, and it's perfectly normal, it's okay, Mike, we'll find a way through, but you don't get to throw in the towel now."

"You can't fix everything with one speech," Mike growled. "This is not a case."

"Yeah, that's why you're giving me more time," Harvey replied and glanced at his wristwatch. "The police will be here in a few minutes to take your statement. I've called a doctor too. After they're gone, you're going to rest and we'll talk again in the morning."

"I told you I wanted you to leave!" and what Mike meant is that he hadn't said anything about wanting to go to the police or hospital, or anywhere else.

"And I told you that I'm not leaving you until you're okay," Harvey replied. "You have this delusion that nothing matters and that nobody cares, but I'm dragging your ass to every doctor and every psychiatrist that I have to until you're okay. And you can hate me for it, but you'll be alive to do it. And I.." Harvey sighed. There was a knock on the door. "I promise. In time, it's going to be okay."

Harvey opened the door. Police was here. Harvey let them in and walked out to give them and Mike some privacy. He left Mike alone there. And his hands shook when he closed the door. He tried to breathe deeply. He had never had to talk down someone from the ledge before.

Much less someone he loved.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was just one thing Mike didn't understand. "Why are you still here?"

The next day when Mike woke up.. He wasn't better. And Harvey felt wretched as well, because he had slept on the couch, well, he had lain there, his sleep had been very light.

The previous day was a blur to Mike. After the cops and then the doctor had left - after all the questions and pictures, and swabs.. He had taken the sleeping pills that the doctor had left for him and passed out. It was early morning again and Mike guessed that he'd been out for a full day.

"You're still here," he remarked to Harvey who was rubbing his neck as he sat up on the couch.

"I told you, rookie," he mumbled, "I'm not leaving. You're not listening."

Mike didn't comment. He turned on the teapot. He remembered putting it on previous day as well, but Harvey had distracted him from actually making anything. _Harvey._ Mike leaned against the kitchen counter and stared into the living room at his boss trying to figure out what the other was trying to accomplish here. "I'm not going to work."

"I know," Harvey grumbled getting to his feet.

"I quit," Mike repeated what he'd said the day before.

"Consider it a vacation," Harvey replied not missing a beat.

"I'm not going back," Mike wasn't arguing and he wasn't trying to fish for compliments, and he wasn't just pulling strings to see if Harvey would jump to persuade him to stay. He truly was completely convinced that he was not going back to Pearson Hardman. He couldn't. It wasn't even that he was afraid to go out of his apartment or ashamed to go to work, it was just that.. He couldn't bring himself to care about any of it at all.

"Are you going to let that get cold or am I getting a coffee?" Harvey replied making sure to sound annoyed. "You're a terrible host."

Mike sighed and got two mugs out of the cupboard. "You're free to leave anytime."

"Not a chance," and Harvey's smile was wolfish as he came after his coffee.

***

Mike watched listlessly as Harvey got dressed from where he was curled up in the armchair. He hadn't moved much from there in the past few days. He tried to figure out the only thing he couldn't figure out. _Harvey._

Every morning a fresh suit was delivered to the door for Harvey so that he could get ready for work. Harvey called during the day and when it wasn't him, it was Donna or Rachel. Once it was even Louis. If Mike didn't pick up – well, it was better to pick up, otherwise it was too much of a hassle. Last time his door had been broken down by paramedics and the police.

His therapist usually came around after lunchtime. The first few times (when Harvey had dragged him there) he had been to her office, but then he had started getting lost on his way there. He didn't care about going and he had a million other things memorized, and sometimes there just were too many people on the streets or too few, or that store on the corner was playing a song that sent chills down his spine.. But Mike was perfectly fine, he was sure of that.

Anyway, so now the therapist came to him. She usually stayed for an hour. Sometimes two. Mike wondered how much Harvey was paying her. He wondered whether she was naturally so composed or if it was her training. Their conversations were mostly philosophical in nature, when she managed to draw him into one. He didn't think he was using his therapy the way it was supposed to be used, but she did prescribe him pills. Sometimes he even took them.

And evenings.. Well, most evenings Harvey was here, at Mike's apartment, and early. He worked, he ate and made Mike eat. And he slept on the couch. Had been doing that for the past three weeks. And watching now another day unfold exactly like the previous – Mike just didn't understand. “Why are you still here?”

Harvey paused, “I thought we talked about that already,” he pulled the knot on his tie tighter.

“Remind me.”

“You're the one with a perfect memory,” Harvey quipped back and continued with his morning rituals. Hair. Shoes. Watch. “I'm sure you can come up with something.”

“You're putting your life on hold for me,” Mike said a moment later. His boss had been camping out on his couch for the past three weeks, watching over him like an overprotective babysitter, but fact of the matter was – it had to be costing Harvey a lot. His whole lifestyle and.. So. Much. Time. Just wasted. Mike wasn't going to go back to the firm. It was never going to be the way it was before, and he just couldn't understand why Harvey was clinging so much to something that hadn't been all that ideal in the first place.

“Now don't be all melodramatic,” Harvey replied absentmindedly. “I'm an adult. I can organize my time.”

“You mean – you get Donna do it for you.”

Harvey's startled laugh became deeper when he saw the small smile on Mike's face. “See you this evening,” he said as he left.

That evening Harvey spent in the hospital, because Mike had overdosed on his medication.

***

"What is that?" Mike asked though he could read perfectly well what the pamphlet said. He was standing, poised to fight, though, truth be said, he was barely holding still and not crumpling back into the armchair. He was weak, his body wrecked.

"It's a service dog program," Harvey replied shortly. He'd come home not five minutes ago.

"I don't need a pet," Mike protested, frowning. He didn't even know his building's pet policy. He didn't care to know. It was just too much to do. Insurmountable.

"It's not a pet, it's a service dog," Harvey's tone was low and patient. It was a tone of voice he had perfected in the last months.

"I am not disabled," Mike shrugged and moved to crumble into his armchair, but Harvey's voice and sudden change in demeanor stopped him halfway. Left him leaning against the chair that had been nearly his whole world for a very long time now.

"Mike! After what happened to you: you quit your job, you attempted suicide. You are depressed and you have PTSD, and that is a medical fact not just my opinion. You can't sleep without pills, you keep having recollections of what happened, because I've seen you freeze and flinch every now and again, and this has been going on for the past three months. I can't be here every hour of the day as much as I'd like to and you need something to take care of. And something to take care of you," Harvey was angry when he started, but he was almost pleading when he finished.

"So you chose a dog," Mike sneered and hated himself at that very moment - he knew he was acting self-destructively, he knew that somehow his control over his own life had spiraled out of his hands, he knew he was unfair and vicious to the one person who did not deserve any of it. He just didn't understand why Harvey would not give up on him.

"You're not letting anyone else in," Harvey's answer was simple. "Now, we're going to apply to that program and you're getting yourself a dog."

"I'm fine, Harvey. Just because I've changed my opinion about things doesn't mean I'm disabled. Going there? It would make me a fraud again."

Harvey had so many things to say to that. Mike had been a better lawyer without a degree than most with one would ever be. Mike was a better person than most people Harvey knew. Mike.. Harvey sighed and shook his head. "You're sick, Mike."

"Just because I disagree with you.. " _I've disagreed with you before,_ but he didn't get to finish that.

"No, it's because I've had to wake you up from nightmares that you come fighting out of. It's because you can go out for groceries and not come back for a whole night, because you had a flashback. It's because there are days when you're not getting out of bed or moving from that chair at all, and it's because you're giving up on all the things you ever claimed to love," Harvey was not afraid to press hard, and to press where it hurt. His courage stemmed from one simple fact - he was running out of ways to try to help Mike. He was running out of ways to keep Mike alive.

Mike straightened. Then he turned away and left the room. There was nowhere far away to go in his apartment, but he closed the glass doors between the living room and bedroom for privacy. He did not come out for the rest of the night, but next morning after Harvey had left for work again he picked up the leaflet, found the website and read everything there was to know. He read the criteria. He'd need his psychiatrist to write a reference, he'd need the doctor who treated him, he'd need to write one by himself.

He opened the application form.

***

Nearly a year had passed. Mike felt stronger now. Physically. When he had begun taking the dog out, he'd been out of breath after two blocks. Whenever his thoughts wandered, whenever he froze - his new friend always brought him back with a demanding poke from a cold nose. He smiled and patted Pea's head when she pushed her muzzle into his palm. She was very tuned in to his moods.

He nearly laughed remembering how affronted Harvey was when he found out that Mike had shortened the regal name of Cassiopeia to Pea. By now Pea didn't answer to anything else. And the name fit, at least in Mike's mind. Cassiopeia was far too serious a name for a golden retriever no matter how well behaved and trained. Pea however was completely appropriate for someone who had left paw imprints on Harvey's white shirts.

Mike took two steps at once on the stairs. Pea bounded up ahead of him. He was shaking the water off his jacket as he entered the apartment. It had started raining at the very last minute. The first sight that greeted him was Harvey cooking. He smiled. He was smiling a lot lately.

“I've got something to tell you," Mike said as he toed off his shoes and took off leash from Pea. "I figured something out," he added as he went to the kitchen area.

“Mhm, what?” Harvey asked absentmindedly as he checked whether the soup was ready.

"Harvey," Mike said with enough gravity that in a second he had Harvey's full attention. "I realized today, I do want to live. I want to move on," it wasn't a promise that suddenly everything would become all that much easier, but it was a promise that Mike would fight for it. He could see relief stark on Harvey's face, so he added quickly, "And you love me."

Harvey froze. Then, "It took you this long to figure it out?"

Mike laughed, then rolled his eyes and swiped the spoon out of Harvey's hand to get a taste of the soup too. "By the way, I wasn't kidding about moving on. My super handed me a notice today. Something about pets not being allowed.."

"Service dogs are allowed everywhere, it's .." Harvey started, but Mike interrupted him swiftly and softly.

"Yeah, you could fight that and win that in court, but do you honestly want to stay here? I know I'm ready to go."

Harvey paused. He stared at Mike as if he could see through him. He scrutinized every feature, and not because he thought that Mike was lying, but because he hadn't seen Mike, not Mike that was so much like himself, in a very long time. "Yeah. I'm ready to go too."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this is truly the last chapter. I hadn't intended so many parts in the first place, but Mike is a fighter and Harvey too, and you all definitely cheered them on, and I'm glad that now I get to leave them and you with a much more hopeful ending.


End file.
